Unrequited
by Lasgalendil
Summary: I’m a Veteran. Seen it all. There’s only one thing worth remembering: Auror has to make sacrifices. Sometimes that means dying…sometimes it means letting others. Neither’s easy. HBP, Moody and Tonks. Every Auror has a weakness…what's yours?
1. Dementors in the Dark

**Unrequited: **_I'm a Veteran. Seen it all. There's only one thing worth remembering: Auror has to make sacrifices. Sometimes that means dying…sometimes it means letting others. Neither's easy. HBP, Moody and Tonks. Every Auror has a weakness…what's yours?_

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Night is dark. Damp. Cold. Big Ben rings past Midnight.

Dead body on cobbled street. Tiretread mark on burst stomach. Blood everywhere. Hell of a mess.

_/He jumped. Must have jumped. Poor bastard committed suicide. Seventh this week/_

Scotland Yard says he jumped. Sudden light. Snap another picture.

Maybe. Maybe not. I think he was pushed.

Or pushed to it. Damn unnatural fog. Dementors everywhere. Never know when they'll strike next…

Or who.

Ministry says Dementors not involved. Sure. Like they weren't involved with the Potter boy last August. Right. Case dismissed. Dementor involvement unconfirmed. Ministry's got its head up its ass…

Or hiding something.

And that's a hell of a lot more frightening. Is it ignorance…

….or fear?

Whatever it is, they can't hide it much longer. Things are getting ugly. Fast. Another dead Muggle with inexplicable circumstances. Muggle baiting, tormenting, deaths, disappearances. Just like last time. And last time, we didn't act until it was nearly too late…

Ministry says no involvement. But it reeks of magic. Whole city rank with it. Dementors loose whether they admit it or not.

And that's bad. Bad for Muggles. Bad for Wizards. Bad for everyone.

There's only two reasons Dementors would stray from Azkaban. One: they were ordered by the Ministry. Two: they could sense something was coming. Something big. Something that makes that soul-sucking shit-hole look like child's play. And that can only mean one thing: He's back.

…And that's where I come in.

I ain't no James Bond, Sherlock Holmes, no Oliver Cromwell. Don't sing no _God S__ave the Queen_...

Another dead Muggle. Dementors swarm the midnight sky. Eerie . Alien. Watching. Waiting. Damn. Whatever it is, it's coming. And it's coming _fast._

.

.

.

.

...I'm an Auror. God save us all.


	2. Shacklebolt's Suspicions

**Unrequited: _I'm a Veteran. Seen it all. There's only one thing worth remembering: Auror has to make sacrifices. Sometimes that means dying…sometimes it means watching others. Neither's easy. HBP, Moody and Tonks. Every Auror has a weakness…what's yours?_**

AN: This fic begins between the end of the Order of the Phoenix and will carry through the Half-Blood Prince as well. I am sorry for the long delay in updating, and have to warn you in advance that unfortunately they will be few and far between.

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**Ministry of Magic Proposition #14890666**

**Classification: Above Utmost Secret.**

**Originator: Scrimgeour, Rufus. Head of Auror Office**

**Status: Pureblood. Loyal**

**Recipient: Fudge, Cornelius, Minister of Magic**

As you are aware, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (referred hereafter as You-Know-Who) has returned, issuing an ultimatum against this Ministry**:** Abdicate, or risk the mass killings of Resident Muggles.

As our survival depends upon our secrecy (see Statue of Secrecy), we must not let the true perpetrators of these acts ever be released to the Muggle Mass Media. In recent months, intelligence has gathered mounting evidence to believe that You-Know-Who may seek to induce panic and strain Ministry/Muggle relations through the assassination of a Muggle public figure.

With growing threats to both the Wizarding and Muggle communities alike, it has been proposed a select detail of skilled Aurors infiltrate the Security Detail of Muggle Heads of State to serve as a front-line barrier against potential attack should our final efforts fail. These Aurors would constitute a highly specialized task force trained in both Dark Wizard Detection, Disguise, and Modern Muggle Culture. Training for said unit would commence under interdepartmental cooperation between the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee and the Auror Office, with direct supervision and direction of the Improper Use of Magic Office, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Division.

To achieve maximum efficacy and to serve as a deterrent to Muggle violence, the existence-or suspicion of such a group-must be leaked through unofficial channels into the public domain. Use of fanatical or fictional presses such as _The Quibbler _are suggested as possible means of spreading this manufactured leak.

**Proposition Approved.**

**Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic**

**Addendum**: In light of the secrecy under which this group is to be shrouded and its unofficial status, it is here proposed to be christened Sector Snorkack. After all, no one has ever found one. With property security, no one ever will.

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**Ministry of Magic**

**Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement**

Summer was here. Posters of Sirius Black were gone. His name cleared. Innocent after all. And now He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back. Hell, thought Shacklebolt, could've told you that one.

But Dumbledore had been re-instated as Hogwarts Headmaster. Taken back his seat on the Council of Mugwumps. And still had his place on the Chocolate Frog Cards, Kinglsey shook his head, the slight trace of a grin on his austere face. Even that Umbridge monstrocity had lost her place at Hogwarts…

But Shacklebolt wasn't a fool. Things were still bad. And getting worse. And if the old man was right, they would get a hell of a lot worse before they got better.

If they got better.

Moody's desk was vacant. So was Scrimgeour's. Tonks was missing too-although her lateness hardly signified anything of concern. Shacklebolt had lost track of how many times the perky, woefully clumsy witch had caught a cloak in the elevator doors. But she was more than competent under fire. And the best damn Auror they had when it came to disguises.

Ah. The meeting. Some sort of new Auror unit. Since it had the designator Above Utmost Secret, naturally the entire department knew. And all wanted in.

Meetings, Shacklebolt grunted, refilling his coffee and pumpkin juice with cream with a lazy flick of his wand. More waste of time and energy when decisions needed to be made quick and fast. He took a deep drink, then returned to his work.

Muggle Security had already done most of the leg work for him. Using the mainly the Disillusionment charm, he had already managed to trail members of the Muggle Homeland Security into their Head Quarters…although occasionally the Memory Charm had been necessary. IR could pick up even the most skilled of invisible wizards, and the Auror prided himself to have a Disillusionment Charm comparable to that of Dumbledore himself. And turning off Muggle Security en mass would only alert them to a presence. Damned if you do, damned if you don't, he mused. Shacklebolt preferred to leave obliviation to the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee, but all Aurors were trained with Emergency Field Imperatives, and had to be ready to use them on a moment's notice.

Memory Charms were tricky. One small screw up and your intended target could end up a vegetable. Fortunately, the Muggle healers' diagnosis of stroke presented some of the same results. Something to do with blood/brain circulation or what not…Still, it was a risk the Auror preferred not to take.

Ah. Here we were. Muggle Security Concerns. Mass Transit stations. King's Cross especially, the Auror made an additional note. Even the London Airport. Many were labeled as potential targets for the Muggle dark forces of IRA-and thus heavily screened. Simple, really. Anywhere the Muggles gathered in masses would be ideal for a terrorist strike, magical or non.

The Auror began to prepare his briefing. _Be advised dense populations make best targets. Urban centers but especially the capital. High points of concern: Mass Transit System. London Airport. _Here he paused, quill hovering over the parchment. _Possibly Major Roadways? _

Roadways, bridges, overpasses weren't listed under Homeland Security Imperatives. The Department of Defense listed them as a concern for War-time efforts and Invasive tactics. A dot of ink fell from the hollow tip of the quill. Bridges? Shacklebolt shrugged. It was worth considering…

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**AN: Reviews are love!**


	3. The Lion, The Witch, and The Warrior

**Unrequited: I'm a Veteran. Seen it all. There's only one thing worth remembering: Auror has to make sacrifices. Sometimes that means dying…sometimes it means watching others. Neither's easy. HBP, Moody and Tonks. Every Auror has a weakness…what's yours?

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Ministry of Magic**

**Closed Hearing**

Fortunately for Sector Snorkack, its initial operations were already underway. Kingsley Shacklebolt had already begun groundwork into the Muggle Security Operations, and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee had already selected Charity Burbage to devise a curriculum for the Auror task force.

And, even more fortunately, as You-Know-Who had only as of yet issued vague threats with no absolute ultimatums, the Prime Minister was under no obligation to notify the Muggle Minister yet of any change in status. Snorkack was, at the moment, only a 'pre-cautionary' measure.

Unfortunately, although the Proposal had been passed through Fudge's office, Wizard Law dictated the Heads of each involved department (Law Enforcement, Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee, Magical Education, Auror) and the Council Members be notified. And so here they were. Amelia Bones, a handsome, austere witch clothed in Ministry Purple, Rufus Scrimgeour, lean and dangerous, and Dolores Umbridge, piggish eyes squinted in her toad-like face.

"Now the Muggles have two heads of state-the Royals, and the Prime Minister. Currently, we do not have reason to believe the reigning monarch will fall under threat. Muggle royalty serve more as figureheads, nothing more. The real political power comes from the Prime Minister-an elected official, and the two Houses: Lords and Commons. As you know, our own Ministry is based loosely off this Muggle system. A vote of No Confidence can overturn these positions at any time-"

Here the red-haired speaker paused. "Yes, Mr. Moody. A question?"

Moody stood slowly, blue eye peering owlishly, swiveling in its socket. "Just one thing:why. We aren't considering an attack on a public figure just because she has no political power? Rubbish, I say. Your informants-Dawlish, most likely-" Here he sent withering look to a younger wizard seated three rows up from him, "-have their heads up a Hippogriff's backside. You-Know-Who doesn't care about political power, he wants to spread panic. Assassinating the Muggle Queen'll do that just fine."

Dawlish scowled. Nyphadora Tonks sniggered.

Undersecretary to the Minister Percy Weasley blinked. "Y-yes, Mr. Moody. Thank you for voicing-"

But another voice interrupted, echoing across the long and empty hall. "We don't consider it a viable threat," A tall, tawny-haired man stepped from the shadows. "Because of her Muggle Pure-blood status. Royalty. Dating back for generations. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will respect this."

Moody snorted. "You're risking an awful lot on that assumption. What do any of us know about what You-Know-Who would or wouldn't do? He's a madman and a Dark Wizard. Bullox. That's what we know."

The Head of the Auror Office shook his mane of grey-streaked hair. "Reconnaissance. Research. You're old hat, Moody. You know this. We never know for certain in this business. But we can take guesses-educated guesses. It is the only way to develop a viable plan of action."

Alastor Moody scowled, his already marred visage wrinkling even darker. "You've sat behind a desk too long, Rufus. Forgotten what it's like. Sometimes you've go to make decisions based on nothing but feeling, gut instinct-"

"And you've been in retirement too long." Dawlish snapped. "Paranoid. Afraid of shadows-you've lost your touch, old man."

Tonks jumped to her feet, tripping over her long robe. "That's dragon droppings, Dawlish, and you know it. Mad Eye's the best Auror we've got-"

"Was the best. I heard he spent the year before last locked in his own trunk-"

But before the pink-faced, pink-haired woman could sputter her answer, her mentor interrupted. "Then for once in your life you've heard right." The grizzled veteran took a pegleg step forward. "Locked in my own trunk. Paranoid, ay?" He took another firm step, straightening to his full height to stare the younger Auror in the eye. "Cause it would seem a bloke who gets captured by Dark Wizards the Ministry said weren't a threat wasn't paranoid after all!" He sat heavily, wooden leg splayed out in the aisle. "But what the Hell. That's probably just my senile mind for you."

There was silence in the hall.

"Enough." Scrimgeour said abruptly. "It's a matter of resources, of spreading ourselves too thin. And we can't afford that. Inadequate protection is equivalent to none at all-"

"-like we're giving the Muggle Queen-" Mood muttered.

"and will do neither our office nor our principals any good. As we have dismissed the possibility of You-Know-Who operating through the Muggle Mass Media in an attempt to blackmail us for reasons of his personal distaste for Muggle technology, we similarly have dismissed an attack on the Queen's person for his displeasure in spilling so-called Pure Blood."

Moody opened his mouth, only to be jabbed by a bony elbow from his young protégé. He harrumphed instead, folding his arms across his chest, staring in disapproving silence.

There was a steady sigh from a haggard-looking wizard in a lime green bowler hat. "Yes. _Thank you_, Auror Advisory Committee. And now having established that, may we please proceed to today's discussion?" Fudge was met with silent nods. "Weasley, continue." He waved the bewildered speaker on wearily.

"Yes, Minister." Percy said. "Ahem. As I was saying, the Muggle's Ministry is considerably similar to ours. All it takes to plunge the entire country's politics into uproar and confusion is a simple vote of No Confidence. Currently, we have developed two possible schematics of what You-Know-Who's followers may be planning. One, an attempt against the Minister's life. Placing a new Muggle Minister-unfamiliar and unfriendly to the Wizarding World would place stress on our own Ministry, as well as harbor Anti-Muggle sentiment in the populace. However, he can achieve the same effect by discrediting, not deposing, this current Minister. And that is our second contingency. Wide-spread Muggle panic, malcontent, even the threat of the Imperius Curse…"

As Percy continued, Moody leaned his grizzled head towards Tonks, beckoning her with a gnarled finger. "How's Molly doing?"

The young Witch shook her head, colored hair whipping. "Still the same."

"Bah," Moody spat in contempt, earning the reproachful glares of several witches surrounding them. He cleared his throat loudly several times, putting a hand to his chest and coughing. Tonks covered her own small mouth to stifle a fit of inopportune giggling.

But even with these efforts, it seemed Percy's speech was doomed to be constantly interrupted.

"…what exactly is it that you are proposing, Mr. Weasley?" The low tones of Amelia Bones interrupted the council. "That we protect the Muggle Prime Minister?"

Hushed and hurried whispers rippled through the gathered crowd. In the front row, the small, toad-like woman frowned deeply, her plump, raised arm as ignored as her hem, hemming for attention.

Percy swallowed loudly, sweating to find he now had the room's complete attention. He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose out of nervous habit, grasping for the right words. "That, that is, well, I hate to give a premature answer, but that will be, that is, well, _that is_ the eventual proposition to be decided upon, yes-"

Those whispers exploded into hoarse and angry shouts. Several called for Fudge's immediate removal, countered by shouts from Fudge himself that Weasley was only presenting preliminary information and they would hear from the Head of the Auror Office soon enough-!

"Good Golpotts, boy!" Councilman Bones said, looking quite affronted, "Why didn't you say so at once? If the Muggle Minister is in need of our immediate protection, why are you wasting our time here?"

Outraged shouts grew louder and louder, the Jr. Undersecretary to the Minister fleeing his lectern to dodge inkwells. Cries of Muggles deserve protection too and Wizards first echoed throughout the chamber.

Moody turned to Tonks. She was grinning. "Good for you, Amelia!"

"Hmph," Moody observed drily. "Except now the whole place is in an uproar. If she wanted this thing passed quickly she've done better to keep her mouth shut."

The witch just rolled her eyes. _"You're_ one to talk."

Mad-Eye shrugged. "If I'm wrong I'm wrong. But you-"

"-can't be too paranoid." Tonks yawned, her grin broadening.

"Constant vigilance," Moody nodded somberly, his own wrinkled lips twitching. "Well, while they're playing politics…"

Tonks nodded, brushing brilliant pink strands behind her ears, that grin spreading delightedly over her heart-shaped face. "Gotcha. Lunch. I mean, logistics."

And with that, the two excused themselves from the mounting mess, dodging inkwells on their way to the egress. Insults would be exchanged, threats delivered, inkwells and perhaps a few fists would fly…but in the end, Amelia Bones and her supporters would stand firm, champion the bill, and the proposition would pass.

The Muggle Prime Minister-and his immediate family-would be safe.

But as Nyphadora Tonks squeezed out the red phone booth that served as the Ministry's visitor entrance for fish and chips at Mad-Eye's favorite pub, she wondered fleetingly if it would be soon enough.

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**Reviews are love!**


	4. Waiting the Storm

**Unrequited: I'm a Veteran. Seen it all. There's only one thing worth remembering: Auror has to make sacrifices. Sometimes that means dying…sometimes it means watching others. Neither's easy. HBP, Moody and Tonks. Every Auror has a weakness…what's yours?

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Petrol. Grease. Fresh-baked bread. Smell again. Your nose ain't been wrong before.

There it is. Something ain't right.

Been on the job long enough to sense it. The unease. The quiet. That down in the gut instinct that tells you the predator's done stalking. It's waiting to pounce. That silence before the spring...

Takes a long time to hone that sense. Few in my line of work live long enough to experience it. But it's that blind instinct that saves a man. Makes him dodge a Killing Curse in the dark. Warns him trouble's around the corner. Tells him when to sit tight and when to let all hell break loose and damn the consequences…

Sense like that makes you a veteran. But veteran makes you old. Tired. Stiff. Makes you suspect things in the shadows, hear whispers in the dark. Pretty soon you second guess yourself. You slow down. Take it careful.

But you can't play this game careful. You hesitate on the field, you're dead.

And yet you've got to be cautious-

Hell. I'm getting old. Don't know anymore. Maybe I'm right, maybe I'm wrong.

…I pray to God I'm wrong.

But deep down part of me knows. Has always known. Has watched too many good men die. Knows you don't live long enough to be as scarred as I am in this business without the guts for it. Cassandra, I feel your pain. There's only one thing worse than the storm, and that's watching it come in.

And this is a storm. Hell of a storm. About to break loose right on top of us…

It's coming. Don't know what, but it's coming. And whatever it is, it's bad. Very bad. I feel in my bones. What's left of them.

Damn. Can't rest. Can't eat. Can't focus. Something's coming. Something big. And it's coming fast.


	5. At the Home of the Famous Teacup Gerbil

**Unrequited: I'm a Veteran. Seen it all. There's only one thing worth remembering: Auror has to make sacrifices. Sometimes that means dying…sometimes it means watching others. Neither's easy. HBP, Moody and Tonks. Every Auror has a weakness…what's yours?**

**AN: A bit of an interlude, introducing parts of an OC muggle cast on the Prime Minister's security detail. Thanks to Mrs. Aurora for her continuous and kind reviews!**

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**Muggle World**

**Home of the Muggle Prime Minister's Sister**

_EAGLE, this is PEREGRINE We've arrived at ATLANTIS. Awaiting visual of MERMAID. _

_PEREGRINE, this is EAGLE. Confirm when you have the package. Note their is an active warning for SHARKS. Repeat, a warning for SHARKS. Stay in touch. EAGLE Out._

_EAGLE, warning heeded. Will be on lookout for SHARKS. Will confirm MERMAID. PEREGRINE out._

The sleek black van pulled into the marble courtyard as yipping dogs fled the porch to bite its tires. The doors opened as one, spilling seven black-clad SS Agents onto the drive. The eighth remained inside the vehicle, the motor still running. All eight were similarly clad in Kevlar protective vests and body armor.

"Damn dogs," AIC Elanor Palfry said, kicking aside the King Charles Spaniel attempting to urinate on the chrome rims. The yelping dog ran for the security of the rose trellis, and it's pack followed suit. Satisfied, she turned to the others_, _slicking short cropped, bleach blonde locks behind her headset_._ "Secure MERMAID."

They nodded as one, walking in smooth formation to the wide porch.

* * *

_PEREGRINE, this is ATLANTIS. Confirm 7 agents approaching door._

_ATLANTIS, this is PEREGRINE. Confirm 7 agents. _

The doorbell rang. The maid opened the door, and four of the agents moved swiftly through, the other three standing guard outside, weapons drawn.

"Ariel, are you ready?" Mary Wahling called up the stairs, then turned back to the waiting SS Agents. "So sorry to keep you waiting-"

"Yes mum!" The ten year old huffed, bouncy blonde curls waggling with her nodding head as she bumped down the stairs.

"Mrs. Wahling?" AIC extended a mannish hand, nodding curtly. "Agent in Charge Elanor Palfry. This is Agent Ali-" here she acknowledged a handsome, coal-black skinned man whose shaven head towered high above them. "Agent Benedicio-" an unassuming olive-skinned man who winked at her, "and Agent Tyler O'Connell." The last was younger and lean with dark, brightly curious eyes reminiscent of a ferret.

As hands were being shaken and the mother's nervous jitters repressed, Ariel Wahling/MERMAID trundled regally across the marble entryway. "Ready." She announced, standing primly with her skirts smoothed. The exhausted maid in the back ground rolled her eyes. The anxious mother turned again to the surrounding SS agents. "You're sure she'll be fine? I heard that IRA threat levels were elevated and I-"

"Don't worry, Mrs. Wahling. Ariel'll be just fine." Tyler re-assured her calmly. "Right, kiddo?"

"Right. And it's _Miss_, not Kiddo." MERMAID informed him not-so-politely.

Her mother smiled apologetically. Tyler only laughed. "They've got to grow up sometime. Better sooner than later, right Miss?"

"Right." The girl said snootily with a bobbing nod of her painstakingly arranged curls.

"Shall we then?" Palfry asked briskly as the worried mother placed a kiss on her daughter's cheek.

"Promise you'll behave."

"Yes, mum."

"You'll do whatever they ask-"

The agents and mother were met with a dramatic sigh. "_Yes_, mum!"

And with that, MERMAID took Tyler's pro-offered hand, disappearing through the glass entryway with Benedicio, Ali, and Palfry trailing close behind. The four remaining guards surrounded them, weapons drawn and scanning north, east, south, west. Mary Whaling watched them go, assured her only daughter was under the protection of the finest security detail in Great Britain-

EAGLE, this is PEREGRINE. MERMAID secured. PEREGRINE en route. Estimated arrival time sixty minutes.

Copy, PEREGRINE. EAGLE out.

And she was almost right. By the next day, agents from Sector Snorkack would integrate into the SS unit tasked with the Prime Minister's family, forming a multi-disciplinary unit able to protect against all imaginable threats, magical or non.

But until then, not all the code-phrases, ammunition, weapons training, evasive manuevors or hand-to-hand combat skills in the Muggle world could possibly hope to protect her. PEREGRINE pulled out of the driveway, eight of Britain's top ranking security detail, kevlar re-enforced steel and bulletproof glass encasing MERMAID in a state of the art, secure environment, away from prying eyes and terrorist hands.

High above, in the foggy London air, EAGLE turned its course, following the small security van through the sprawling suburban streets towards the shimmering strip of the Thames river and the Brockdale Bridge below.

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**Please, dear readers, leave a review! Even if it's only to put to the tongue tying curse on my keyboard(would that be..._capslock-_?).**


	6. Rather Moody Musings

**Unrequited: **_I'm a Veteran. Seen it all. There's only one thing worth remembering: Auror has to make sacrifices. Sometimes that means dying…sometimes it means letting others. Neither's easy. HBP, Moody and Tonks. Every Auror has a weakness…what's yours?_

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**Muggle World**

**White Horse Tavern**

No customer in the crowded, dirty pub paid much attention to two more patrons entering the grimy oaken door. Old man. Young woman. A few may have noticed the old man wore a hat, fewer still would have taken the second glance necessary to ascertain he wore an eyepatch. The bartender did, once, look up and notice the gentleman, grunting to himself that some men had all the luck. A frequent customer. Always with a young girl. Never the same. He shrugged, thoughts back on preparing the eggs benedict to perfection, and forgot about the matter entirely.

"Mad-Eye, you're paranoid." The slinky blonde said, curling the tips of her newly grown touseled locks as they sat at a corner booth, giving the aged Auror a shielded view of the entryway.

"You can't make yourself predictable. Can't establish patterns. Routines. Not in this business." Alastor Moody growled, pulling a poison test potion from his jacket pocket and scraping off a corner of toast into the vial, giving a satisfied grunt. "Besides, you need the practice."

Tonks-for that was who it was-laughed again. "Right. A Metamorphungi needing practice with disguise."

"Disguise is more than physicality." Mad-Eye muttered between vicious stabs of breaded fish. "There's gait. Conversation. Vocabulary. Voicing, accents…"

Tonks rolled baby-blue eyes. "Right. You think they'd take me for Snorkack? No way."

Mad-Eye smiled almost sadly. "You are one of the best-"

"Only because I'm brilliant with disguises, you know that-"

Her mentor looked down at the table. "Just saying. Wouldn't be surprised if they picked you."

"No way." Tonks said, shaking her head and sending and earring flying into Moody's lunch. "Not going. They need me in the Order. And besides, if I go, who's going to look after you?"

"Hmph." Was his cryptic reply.

But Tonks persisted. "Besides, Mad-Eye, you're the best. If they really wanted-" but of course that was ridiculous, they both knew. Moody was too old, too scarred, and while it might cover the scars, the eye and the missing leg, polyhyjuice potion was out of the question. They couldn't risk a breach in wizarding secrecy over a simple Auror, veteran though he was.

The fact of the matter, as both well knew, was that his days as an active Auror were over. He was retired, his record might be respected, his opinion still asked for…but he would never be activated again.

And maybe that's why the Order held such an appeal, Tonks thought sadly. One last hurrah. A chance to look back into Hell's face and laugh, relive the glory days, feel adrenaline pump one more time before that moment both knew were coming. No one lived forever, Aurors least of all.

Tonks shuddered. "I'm not leaving you."

Mad-eye harrumphed and addressed his plate. "Damn foolish to leave behind a perfectly good career for an old man, Nyphadora. I've trained you. Know you've got what it takes. And when the moment comes, I want to know I've done some damn good here." He raised his eyes, his slash of a mouth wrinkled in a grimacing smile. "Want to know that klutzy, stringy little NEWT student got her dream."

Across the table, Nyphadora Tonks shifted uncomfortably. "What if it's not what she wants anymore?"

"Time happens. Life happens. Things change." Mad-Eye shrugged."But if she's quitting because her job was getting too dangerous, or because the Ministry that governs the people she's sworn to protect has become corrupt and is getting worse by the day…I say shame on her."

Silence greeted him. For two long minutes, they sat awkwardly, the only sounds the scraping of forks on ceramic plates.

"Hell," Mad-Eye finally said. "Let's talk about something else."

* * *

_PEREGRINE, this is EAGLE. Traffic clear ahead. Visuals of Brockdale Bridge show minor congestion._

_Copy, EAGLE. Confirm threat level for SHARKS._

_SHARKS negative, PEREGRINE. I repeat, negative for SHARKS._

_Roger. Negative for SHARKS. PEREGRINE out._

"…and I also want to be the Queen." Ariel Wahling finished primly. Seven agents scanning all directions rolled their eyes simultaneously, knowing glances confirming their single thought: putting up with MERMAID's snootiness deserved a higher pay grade. But in the seat next to MERMAID, Agent Tyler chuckled. "And is that before or after you launch your career as a world-renown fashion designer?"

But the Prime Minister's niece didn't so much as blink. "During."

* * *

The two Aurors walked the dingy streets, Moody pointing out attitudes, movements, clothing styles and gait to his former pupil, Tonks in turn explaining some of the odder fashions. She had to admit, growing up with a Muggle father was an experience in her favor when it came to Snorkack.

"Snorkack." She said, interrupting a tirade against hooligans in too-tight pants.

Moody's good eye met hers. "What about it?"

"I don't think it was Fudge's brightest idea. Don't get me wrong, it's a good idea. But bringing up Muggle concerns when his approval rating is so low wasn't smart."

"Wasn't Fudge's idea. Scrimgeour's. Scrimgeour's getting his foot in the door for Minister, and using Fudge as the bait is an added benefit."

Tonks shrugged. "I didn't figure Scrimgeour for the political type."

"He isn't. But he's damn tired of losing leads and ministry policy interfering with public safety. He's bound and determined to get Fudge's job, and the presence of a threat so big even the Muggle Minister needs protection…well, who would you choose? The idiot who single-handedly gave Britain over to You-Know-Who…or the head of the agency that brought him down last time?"

Tonks nodded slowly. "Seems like cheating."

Moody harrumphed a bitter laugh. "Cheating? No. Merely using the Ministry's own scare tactics against it. Any other day I would say it's about time they had a taste of their own medicine." He shook his grizzled head. "Sure. Scrimgeour knows more what he's talking about. But I'd take Fudge over him any day. Hell. Never thought I'd hear myself saying that."

Tonks was flustered. "You'd take Fudge over Scrimgeour? Why? Rufus has so much more experience with Dark Wizards-"

"You're telling me things I already know. Gone over it a thousand times, Nyphadora. And the fact remains is that Scrimgeour's well on his way to becoming the next Barty Crouch. Emergency measures. All for the people's protection, the greater good." He spat in disgust. "Fudge had flobberworms for a brain. Had no idea what sort of monster that Umbridge woman would become. Scrimgeour knows it. Knows all about it, but he's willing to ally with her anyways. You think things are ugly now, just wait until Scrimgeour gets desperate."

His blonde companion shuddered in the unnatural July fog, for one second her bright blue eyes flickering back to their normal shade and shape. "We're setting ourselves up for another Azkaban."

Moody nodded, jogging awkwardly to keep up with her across the crowded street. Hundreds of feet above them, an silent army of dementors hung dark and dreary in the mist. "Exactly."


	7. Kingsley Thoughts and a Royal Pain

**Unrequited: _I'm a Veteran. Seen it all. There's only one thing worth remembering: Auror has to make sacrifices. Sometimes that means dying…sometimes it means letting others. Neither's easy. HBP, Moody and Tonks. Every Auror has a weakness…what's yours?_**

* * *

**Muggle World**

_EAGLE, this is PEREGRINE. Do you have visual of obstruction?_

_Affirmative, PEREGRINE. Obstruction confirmed. Traffic fatality. Emergency Services Responding._

"Damn." Hector Juarez related the information to the rest of the protective detail.

MERMAID's eyes got huge-and for a split second all eight Agents exchanged nervous glances. How to console a small child-?

"You mean we're going to have to _WAIT_?" The principal cried in horror.

…Silence.

"_WELL?"_

Tyler's response was meek. "It would…it would appear so, Miss."

In the passenger's seat, AIC Eleanor Palfry placed another magazine clip onto the dash, just in case. It was a big OCEAN, and you never knew when the SHARKS might strike. Not that at the moment it wouldn't seem a welcome relief...

They didn't do this for the money. No pay was worth the hours away from family and friends, the rigorous training, constant security checks, invasion of privacy….they did it for their country. But goddamnit if taking a bullet for this prissy want-to-be princess didn't seem like a waste. A better service, AIC mused darkly as the child's wailings grew louder, would be a three round burst to the head. Heaven forbid that swotty, fame-crazed little glamazon ever became involved in politics.

* * *

**Ministry of Magic SNORKACK Briefing**

Kingsley was growing restless, although his calm demeanor showed none of it. Outwardly he was a stoic and even-tempered as he always was. Fudge jokingly called him 'The Rock,' both for his physical athleticism and his silent, enduring patience. Given Dumbledore's presence of mind to subdue both Dawlish and himself in his office last year, Fudge had no reasons to suspect his unquestioning loyalty to the current administration. But, if the old man was right-and he was seldom wrong-Fudge wouldn't be Minister much longer now. Cornelius' initial response had been denial and paranoia…then panic when the evidences had become overwhelming of You-Know-Who's return.

Murder in the heart of the Ministry itself…it still gave him chills. That Potter boy and his five friends had been lucky to survive. Foolish. Childish. To risk themselves against _Death Eaters-_

He sighed, waiting for the last of the Council members to enter the small hall. He was a distinguished Auror, but many of these witches and wizards were veterans. They had grown up under You-Know-Who's…_Voldemort'_s-as the old man insisted-first reign of terror. Ironically, they would be the hardest to convince. If Barty Crouch's near religious zeal had been any measure, most had forgotten the terror, the horror, the reckless anger and hopeless guilt associated with death. Too calloused by mass killings, wanton destruction…they had forgotten what one life was worth. Why should they protect the Muggle Prime Minister when the entire wizarding world was a risk?

But there was one young man who hadn't forgotten. A brave soul who'd risked everything for the sake of Sirius Black. He should speak to Potter the next time they crossed paths, Kingsley realized. Black had been his godfather. A replacement for the parents the boy had never had…

He'd heard the boy wanted to be an Auror, and with Dolores Umbridge still on leave for 'her health', he would do what he could to help Potter fulfill that desire. He would speak with Potter, he decided, stepping forward to the center of the court as the last witch took her seat. Must tell him as an Auror, you must be prepared to lose everything-

* * *

**Muggle World, Brockdale Bridge**

Horns were blaring, people getting out, shouting at one another, some stretching, some simply taking a casual stroll. Strolls, the SS agents noticed with heightened adrenaline, that brought them dangerously near their vehicle and young charge. It was a logistical nightmare. Trapped. On a bridge. Any one of these neighboring vehicles could contain IRA or other extremists, and the accident could be staged or merely a disguise to render them helpless. All it would take was knowledge of the day's itinerary-

"I don't want to wait!" Ariel Wahling cried yet again, "We're going to be _late_!"

"Miss, please-" Agent Tyler soothed, the shrill pitch of Ariel's voice making all eight Agents cringe. "Just try to be patient-"

But at these words their charge began to swell like a toad, her fair skin turning mottled and pink. "I want to go _NOW!"_

AIC Eleanor Palfrey turned to face the child, patience finally snapping. "Miss Wahling, there is an obstruction in traffic. We can go _no further_ and _no faster._ I don't care that you're going to be late. I don't care that you're having tea with the duchess' daughter. We are not a cab service. Our job is to transport you from destination A to destination B. _Safely_. I suggest you get used to the idea." The child sniffed, quite affronted, and obviously unaccustomed to being reprimanded.

"But I-"

"And I don't give a damn, Miss Wahling." The only other female in the van retorted. "Now shut it."

In the intervening silence, the other seven SS Agents shifted uncomfortably. "Please, Agent Palfrey," Tyler finally leaned forward and whispered lowly. "There's a reason I was tasked with handling the child."

"I'm not a child!" Ariel sniffled, landing a swift kick to Tyler's right shin. The young Agent grimaced, and Palfrey gritted her teeth.

"Then I suggest you handle her." But Ariel Wahling, reckless, belligerent, and prone to tantrums though she was, was about to become the least of anyone's concerns. There were SHARKS in this OCEAN of a nature Her Majesty's Secret Service couldn't even begin to comprehend, and they sat mired in miserable fog as their enemies circled closer and closer.

* * *

**AN: So that's the end of the (mostly) pre-written chapters, and from here on out I've got to fill in the outline! Thanks everyone for the renewed interest, and I'll try to keep this fic updated on a regular basis.**


	8. Tempered and Temperamental

**Unrequited: _I'm a Veteran. Seen it all. There's only one thing worth remembering: Auror has to make sacrifices. Sometimes that means dying…sometimes it means letting others. Neither's easy. HBP, Moody and Tonks. Every Auror has a weakness…what's yours?_**

* * *

**Muggle World**

Constant Vigilance. That's what I say. Some people laugh. But in this business, you're either watching…or you're dead. That man. The one in the green sweater. Directly to your right. Pickpocket. Break his grubby fingers, he cries out, falls to his knees. Never steal from a man bigger than you. Never assume age or injuries mean decrepit. That's your lesson, son. I suggest you learn it. Learn it well. Life is a hard teacher. Doesn't always give you a second chance.

…So you've got to watch. Got to read the signs. Have to practice Constant Vigilance.

* * *

"Mad-Eye, was that necessary?" Tonks asked queasily as the culprit in question still lay on the sidewalk, moaning. "He was just a pickpocket."

"Might have been. Might have been an enemy. You never know. You have to practice-"

"Constant vigilance," his (for the moment) blonde companion yawned. "Really, Mad-Eye, are the Death Eaters likely to disguise themselves as _muggles_?" The gnarled man harrumphed once, then shrugged. For a second, Nymphadora Tonks could have sworn she saw the vestige of a smile tug those weathered features. But it was only from the corner of her eye, and only for a second.

* * *

Things weren't so light-hearted on the Brockdale Bridge. While many of the drivers were taking this unexpected free time to nap, relax, or stretch their weary legs on this chilly but not unpleasantly cold day, the atmosphere inside the SS van was nothing less than tempestuous. Ariel Wahling's temper-tantrums had died down to sniffles and the occasional sob, and while it less deafening than her all out screeching, her high-pitched whimpering whine was no less grating on the ears. And as Agent Tyler was quickly understanding, mixing that combination with adrenaline and automatic weapons was a dangerous idea. While he did his best to comfort their young charge (secretly wishing he'd brought a handkerchief, as the sleeve of his uniform was growing alarmingly snotty), his compatriots argued over the best course of action.

…and tempers where flaring. Fast.

"What we have to discuss is walking as a viable option," Ali reasoned. The longer we wait here-"

"No." Juarez said flatly. "We blow cover the moment we set foot outside this van."

"Cover? It's a government vehicle-there is no cover!" Benediccio quarreled.

"Do you really wish to wait here all day?" Ali shrugged.

"Unless they're in deep they don't know itinerary," Juarez propounded. "They wouldn't know who the principal is-all they know is the address of the pickup. And a ten year old girl in the open makes for a much easier kidnap than an adult!"

"We have to assume they know everything!" Benediccio shouted.

But AIC Elanor Palfrey merely yawned. "In that case, Benediccio, we have to assume it's one of our own. Hell, the chopper guy could be lying about the obstruction, or any one of us could be the traitor and plug her right here, right now. If you assume one thing you've got to assume the rest. Should I start shooting?" She asked drily, one eyebrow arched. "We practice pre-emptive protection, remember?"

"We wait." Tyler said. "Period. Inform the Duchess of the manner of our delay, offer our sincerest apologies, and wait."

WHAM! No sooner had the words left his mouth then the van lurched forward, upsetting all. Ariel Wahling resorted to screaming again, and within seconds weapons were drawn, the doors thrown back, and all hope of their remaining 'cover' was completely abandoned. Ali and Benediccio slammed the unfortunate hooligans against the van body, their quarrel forgotten. "We weren't trying to hurt anybody!" One protested feebly, but was quickly silenced. Getting patted down by two unidentified, muscular men in black while staring down the barrel of a pistol held by a blonde pixie with heartless, steel-colored eyes had that affect on most people.

"Unarmed," Palfrey spat, and all the SS agents relaxed visibly. Even Tyler had finally drawn, to Ariel's horror, and the young man was relieved to hide the weapon again out of the girl's sight. Visibility of weapons always made the principal nervous, and that anxiety was intensified with children. "What were you thinking?" AIC questioned, interrogation-style. Tyler may have re-holstered his weapon, and the others had lowered theirs, but Elanor Palfrey had a reputation as a sharp-shooter, marksman, and as a general, all around, trigger-happy bitch. Life went much more smoothly when you spoke gruffly and carried a pistol, and truth be told Palfrey only _appeared _to handle upsets in her schedule with more grace and tact than the Prime Minister's niece. Her co-workers knew she was not someone to be crossed lightly, passers-by could often guess, and those not smart enough to read the signs learned their error quickly.

"Aw, come off it," the scrawny, pimpled teenagers complained. "It was a just a couple of rocks-"

"Rocks," Palfrey repeated.

"Yeah. Rocks. Big chunks of pavement-"

"We thought it'd be fun," his companion finished weakly.

"And what part about a state-licensed vehicle with blacked out windows with an armed escort made you idiots decide it would be _fun?_" She snarled with a meaningful jab of her sidearm. "You know what I like? Target practice. Now you two had better scram before I decide to have some _fun_ of my own." The two teenagers wasted no time, and soon the protective detail was again crammed inside the van.

"That wasn't very lady-like, you know." Ariel Wahling sniffed, smoothing her crinoline skirts primly as the doors snapped shut. "You're never going to get marri-" But before the SS agents could respond by anything other than an astonished blink, Tyler O'Connell wisely initiated Operation Lollipop, and their charge became instantly distracted and rendered incapable of further insult. In their heads, Palfrey's fellow soldiers had each silently accused her of being many things, but 'ladylike' certainly wasn't one of them. But something in that little pest's tirade still must have struck a nerve, Ali and Benediccio realized; in the passengers seat, AIC Elanor Palfrey was positively _fuming_.


	9. Testing the Waters

**Unrequited: _I'm a Veteran. Seen it all. There's only one thing worth remembering: Auror has to make sacrifices. Sometimes that means dying…sometimes it means letting others. Neither's easy. HBP, Moody and Tonks. Every Auror has a weakness…what's yours?_**

* * *

**Muggle World**

Evil strikes serpentine, lurking long in the shadows before releasing its coils; and when the night is blackest, even the most vigilant can be caught unawares. The whole of London was mired in an unnatural fog, and to a clumsy-yet-adept Auror taking a clandestine lunch break from the boredom of politics, it seemed hardly more than the brooding presence of Azkaban's exodus. There were few indeed in the wizarding world with the wisdom and training to detect the subtleties of spell-casting—Albus Dumbledore was one of them, but he, as always, remained faithful to his post. The Department of Mysteries boasted several, and every generation of every nation had its prodigies, true; but those with the magical training necessary to detect the presence and intent of the gathered Death Eaters today were spread few and far between.

All but one. Alastor Moody was a highly trained Auror, yes; but it was not his extensive training or long life of harsh experiences that warned him…it was that constant, nagging feeling deep down in his gut. He might not have predicted the exact moment when evil would strike, but he was waiting, and he was ready.

* * *

**Brockdale Bridge**

"There it is again," Benediccio said. The van was hushed, and even the milling pedestrians had stopped stone-cold, silent and anxious. Something had passed over them, passed over the entire bridge, silent and ominous. Ghostly, was the closest Tyler O'Connell could put it, like that feeling his grandmother always described as someone's foot passing over her grave…

"It's just the wind." Ali replied unconvincingly.

"Make it stop!" Ariel cried, her face buried in Tyler's chest. "Just make it stop!"

But that low, shuddering swoop and eerie, echoing _thrum _reverberated again, so faint and yet so dreadfully near. "Dios mio," Hector Juarez whispered under his breath. "You still think that's the wind?"

"What else could it be?" Palfrey asked, with seeming disinterest, but her rigid posture and whitened knuckles on the grip of her gunstock proved otherwise.

"Of course it's the wind, Ariel." Tyler soothed, sending a meaningful look to the other passengers. "Of course it is." MERMAID was enough of a handful already, and scaring her senseless did no one a favor should danger really be lurking—frightened children tended not to move.

It came again, louder, stronger, and accompanied by the faintest of groans, muffled by the dense, unnatural fog, and for a long while, no one in the van either moved or spoke. Ariel Wahling clutched Tyler tighter, and he, for his part—even the youngest, least experienced and most avid opponent of exposing firearms to small children—found himself reaching unconsciously for his weapon. Palfrey's knuckles had turned ashen, and her steely eyes stared out the fog-strewn glass, unblinking. "I was picking up a package once," Benediccio related in a hushed whisper as he brought the rifle slowly to his shoulder. "A small boat in the Caribbean. Before nightfall, a storm came with winds to strong we couldn't make land. We were stranded at sea for nearly four days, and during the nights the sharks would come and brush under us. Test the boat to see if she'd hold…"

"And?" came their collective reply.

"And I don't know what the hell is out there, but it's doing the exact same thing."

* * *

It's here. Don't know where, don't know when it'll rear its ugly head but it's here. Here right now. Ain't no dementors can hide it, and hell if I can't stop it. Show yourself, monster. I know you're there, you goddamned coward. Ain't no fog, no invisibility cloak, and no disguise can hide you…Alastor's here, you Death Eating scum, now come and fight!

* * *

There was a change, she could tell. Her mentor had stiffened, like a hound catching a scent…and in years of knowing him she knew that his sixth sense wasn't something to be laughed at. As an Auror during You-Know-Who's reign of terror fifteen years ago, Mad-Eye Moody hadn't lived to look the way he did without honing some sort of instinct. There were those who mocked him for the many times he'd been wrong-Dawlish included, but they hadn't been there on the field to have a partner's gut save their life. "Mad-Eye?" Tonks asked gently, "what is it?"

"Wand out, Nymphadora.," the grizzled veteran growled. "The first breakers are about to hit the beach."

_Cryptic, as usual_. Tonks thought with a wry grin. There were dementors in the sky, and perhaps Death Eaters in the fog…but for one more, glorious day, she was with her mentor, Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, and together they were invincible. _Always have been_, she mused as she slid her weapon down her sleeve to her palm, _always would be…_

* * *

**Brockdale Bridge**

_PEREGRINE, this is EAGLE. We have lost visual contact. Repeat, lost visual contact. Do you copy?_

_EAGLE, this is PEREGRINE. Copy lost visual contact. Continue surveillance and maintain holding pattern._

_Affirmative, PEREGRINE. Will continue holding pattern and will update you on further traffic progress. EAGLE out._

People were getting scared now, but no one was moving. That was the problem with human nature-people, when frightened, intrigued, or both, tended to freeze. But the eight SS agents tasked with the Prime Minister's family had had years of vigorous training to rid them of the foolishness of natural instinct and reflex when it came to the unknown. MERMAID was their primary concern, and even with hackles raised and weapons drawn they kept their cool.

But the pedestrians and other drivers didn't, and the ever-thickening fog didn't help matters. In the five minutes since Palfrey had decided that they should evacuate the bridge, they had scarcely moved 200 meters. Abandoned cars littered the causeway, or were stoppered full of passengers and simply refused to move. The braying of many angry horns was heard, and the SS van added to the growing cacophony and confusion.

"It's no use," Hector Juarez said in defeat. "We're not getting any farther."

"Not in the vehicle, no." Palfrey responded. "We can go forward on foot."

"I highly advise against that," Tyler spoke up. "We have little to no reflective gear, and there's a lot of cars up here driving blindly. Miss Wahling's safety is our first concern-"

"We're moving forward because I deemed the integrity of the bridge a possible threat to her safety. Hitting a roadblock doesn't change that. Everybody out!" She barked suddenly, throwing open her door and taking point.

"I don't wanna leave!" Ariel Wahling squealed, clinging tighter to Tyler. "I don't wanna leave the van!"

"I've got you, Miss." He assured her, holding one of the child's small hands in his own. They were soon flanked by four others, two more taking up the rear, and together they moved slowly forward into the darkling fog. That eerie, slow shudder came again, palpable and threatening, a presence so close it was intolerable. Ariel shrieked, and instantly froze, but in in the face of this new, unspeakable awfulness even Elanor Palfrey's firm steps were momentarily halted.

"Move!" She commanded, and they redoubled their pace, Tyler swinging their young charge up into his arms. It was faster, yes, but hurtling breakneck through the blinding mire with a hammering heart he couldn't help realize it had cost him the use of his gun.

…little though it would matter. The perpetrators of an unknown evil had completely surrounded them, and nothing but magic could save them now.

* * *

**AN: Enough suspense already! Next chapter it'll finally be here! **


	10. Misgivings and Misplaced Priorities

_**I'm a Veteran. Seen it all. There's only one thing worth remembering: Auror has to make sacrifices. Sometimes that means dying…sometimes it means letting others. Neither's easy. HBP, Moody and Tonks. Every Auror has a weakness…what's yours?**_

_**AN: If you drudged through the treacherous (and possibly lecherous) vicinity of 'Harry Potter fanfiction with 11 reviews or less' in order to find this fic, you should really be reading Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality by Less Wrong instead. Really.**_

* * *

Cornelius Fudge was not the wisest man to have occupied the post of Prime Minster of the Ministry of Magic, no. And there had been a time-a very long time now-that it would be not only quite possible but quite correct to label him fool. But in the past several weeks he had grown if not wise, then wiser. After the return of You –Know-Who not weeks before, and the innocence and death of Sirius Black on Ministry property itself, he'd seen the warning signs. This regime—his regime—was on the brink of dying, and he swore he'd do anything to keep this position he so loved.

He'd even tried Dumbledore—_Dumbledore!_ Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the man who, for nearly three years now, he'd tried so desperately hard to undermine, thwart, spy upon, control and depose. But he knew the truth now, or was at least closer to a bewildered resignation: some men possess power inherently while others struggle for the same all their lives. Dumbledore had charisma, undeniable charisma, and though just months ago he'd declared the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry a fugitive for sedition, for the past several days he'd tried to get the old man's attention, and even aid.

Dumbledore was venerable, old, and wise—and now that the truth about You-Know-Who's return on the eve of the Tri-Wizard Tournament's finale had been fully established in the public eye, the Professor—like Potter—was considered a lone bastion of truth.

If only he could get audience with the old man. If only they could convince Potter. Yes, Harry Potter. In perhaps the most profound moment of Fudge's career (and even life), he'd realized what-rather, who-he needed, and was willing to do whatever it took to get The Boy Who Lived on his side. Auror training. Order of Merlin. Even an official _apology_, if need be. And it would be in earnest…

…but it was, as Dumbledore's ominous silence suggested, simply too late. You Know Who's return had been the fatal blow, and nothing and everything he did now could hope to staunch its flow. The old man's silence, and Fudge's vain efforts to speak with him, were simply the long bleeding out.

The fall of the Brockdale Bridge, however, would be his tenure's final, gasping breath.

* * *

"PEREGRINE, this is EAGLE, what is your position?"

Radio static. The chopper team tried again. "PEREGRINE, do you copy?"

But the radio lay splintered and useless, dropped from the ashen fingers of Elanor Palfrey in favor of her pistol. Mad-Eye Moody wasn't the only veteran in London that morning: Iraq had not been kind to her, and words wouldn't save them now. These enemies were beyond her skill—beyond her imagination—but instinct, even that of the Muggle variety, told every soldier battle was better met with one's sidearm, whether wood or steel, firmly clasped in the heel of one's palm.

…and your enemies, no matter how invisible or impossible, were better in front of you than behind. She wheeled, crouching, running backwards behind her team to provide fire cover should it prove necessary.

But her efforts were counter-productive. Even clutching the principal, Tyler O'Connell _slowed down_ to match her pace. They weren't her majesty's army, they were her sworn protectors…and now wasn't the time for never leave a man behind. It was the principal before aught else.

"O'Connell!" AIC barked, "get MERMAID to safety!"

"Palfrey-"

"That's an order, goddamnit! _Run!_" Before he could either reply or comply, the bridge lurched. Once, twice, three times it shuddered, then let out a creaking groan like a dying animal. MERMAID wailed in terror as Tyler fell, Ali and Benedicio let out a collective shout and came rushing back to help-

Too late.

There was a split-second of silence, then a sonic boom. The shock-wave rippled through the pavement and sent pedestrians and vehicles sailing into the ominous fog into the waters below. Elanor staggered to her knees, civilians screamed, and cars rolled backwards as that eerie _thrum!_ reached it's deadly climax and the pavementcobblestonerailings bent like an abstract painting, coiling and spiraling around her like a terrible, stony serpent.

* * *

Too old. I'm too damn old. Thought I outsmarted Death, living this long. But that bastard just wanted to see this day: the day old Mad-Eye knew, but couldn't do anything. The day old Mad-Eye did nothing but _watch_.

Not yet. Not today. Joke ain't over. I got one more in me. You're going to have to wait, Death. I ain't that old, not yet…

Can't breathe, can't stop. Move, old man, move-!

* * *

It was here. She'd never realized it before but now, exposed, naked in the Muggle world with no ambient charms or remnants of spells long cast, Magic had a presence all of its own. It was here. Close. Urgent and unrelenting. And that only meant one thing: if a spell or charm was strong enough that even clumsy Nymphadora Tonks could sense it, it was a magic of catastrophic proportions.

Weasley's report had mentioned Muggle figureheads as potential targets. She had no idea that at this exact moment Kingsley Shacklebolt was presenting his findings that the Muggle mass transit system might also a target of You-Know-Who's terror. But Shacklebolt's suspicions, like most of the provisos made by the Fudge administration in the wake of Sirius' death, had simply come too late to stop the inevitable unfolding of events.

She didn't see it for the fog, but the explosion and resultant force wave of ominous magic coming from the rolling grey cloud bank that obscured the river sent a death-knell to her heart. "Mad-Eye, the _bridge_!" Tonks shrieked. And in mid-step, before she could even blink, the running man hobbling next to her laid a firm grip on her arm-

-she was jerked to the side, there was a loud CRACK-!

-and suddenly they were at the water front to watch first-hand the horror of Voldemort's newest wave of terror.

In that moment, staring out at the Brockdale Bridge and the grey waters below, none of the Muggles on the crowded street noticed the woman's sweeping blonde hair shoot back into her skull and turn a brilliant shade of pinkish-purple.

…Then again, given the extenuating circumstances, none noticed her and the grizzled man appear out of thin air, either.


	11. Splinched and Splintered

**I'm a Veteran. Seen it all. There's only one thing worth remembering: Auror has to make sacrifices. Sometimes that means dying…sometimes it means letting others. Neither's easy. HBP, Moody and Tonks. Every Auror has a weakness…what's yours?**

* * *

There was nothing for it. No training, no spells, nothing but instinct. People were dying, and she was an Auror. Muggles or not, Act of Secrecy or not, this was magic, and she'd taken an oath to defend. Nymphadora Tonks wheeled on the spot—

* * *

Brakes shrieked and cars skidded. Eleanor Palfrey was knocked aside, flipping end over end over end towards that gaping gash below. Even now the bridge was moving, twisting, bucking beneath her as pavement and sky churned impossibly. She hit hard. Winded. Dropped her gun. But presence of mind enough to reach out, to cling, grasp anything to keep from falling into that eerie, endless maw. Fingers scrabbled against a railing, fumbled, _clutched—!_

…held. But all around, others weren't so lucky. She tried to cry out, to save someone, anyone, but to her surprise she was screaming and there were tears of terror running down her face.

* * *

CRACK!

But it wasn't the bridge beneath her feet. It was nothing but fog, fog and dementors and the water below—

A falling Muggle. Tonks reached out, clasped a hand on her wrist as the woman screamed and together they plunged into the pit.

* * *

Damned fool.

She's a damn bloody fool. Cares too much. She cares too much. Caring makes you stupid. Caring makes you blind. Caring makes you dead.

…and you cared for her. Stupid, stupid man. Think, damn you, think!

Too much magic. Too strong. And you know it, old man. You've lost.

…you've lost everything.

* * *

His lungs were heaving, stomach sick, so much adrenaline his heart might burst. Things that weren't real had suddenly become so, things of nightmares part of his waking world. All around people panicked. Froze. Lost sanity, lost lives. But SS Agent Tyler O'Connell kept his feet beneath him, kept his eyes ahead, kept the girl clutched against his chest and ran.

…and ran. And ran.

And suddenly the world stopped lurching. Sound boomed back. Three armed men in black around him, shaking him, slapping his cheeks as his heart pounded heavily in his heaving chest.

"I'm alright," Tyler panted. "I'm alright…"

Somehow the bridge was now behind him, and Ariel Wahling lay cringing in his arms, too frightened to even sob. Alive. Both alive.

But MERMAID wasn't safe. Not yet.

"Did we all make it?" Tyler asked.

"No." Ali shook his head solemnly. "Benediccio, Juarez and myself. Now you."

And for the first time since this all began, his knees went weak and his head began to spin. Palfrey. Eleanor. El, El was still out there-

"O'Connell?" Ali's dark hands were on his shoulders. "O'Connell?"

He was the child liaison. Tasked with the girl. His orders were to run, always run, take the principle to safety while the others stood ground. Bought time. Sacrificed themselves so the principle—so he—could run to safety.

Not today. Not El. "Take her," Tyler handed MERMAID over as she shrieked and pleaded.

"Goddamnit, O'Connell, remember our mission!" Juarez swore.

"I have to go back," he said.

"No!" Ali ordered. "We protect the child. Deliver her to the rendezvous."

"Take MERMAID!" Tyler shouted. "And run!"

"The hell are you going!" Benedicio cried as that forboding fog was again before him. "O'Connell, that's _suicide—!_"

* * *

Spinning now, faster and faster shrieks and screaming and suddenly the ground beneath them swallowed them up, sound and light and air all gone, a dark, chaotic swirl of headlights debris dead bodies floating she clasped that hand in hers and spun, a glug of bubbles like an explosion but for the faintest second the disapparating water around them turned a deep and deadly red—

* * *

But Mad-eye Moody wasn't done. Not yet. Apprentice gone, exposed in the Muggle world, nothing but his wits and his wand…The dark magic was too much for him, no match even for his prodigious skills, and you didn't live to retire as an Auror without knowing the difference between bravery and damn stupidity. He was a veteran of Voldemort's first war. He knew in his remaining bones when to stand and fight, when to watch and call for others despite the costs or consequences.

"Expecto patronum," he growled.

…and the furious form of a battered, battle-worn barracuda with a gaping scar for a left eye appeared in the Ministry of Magic, shouting for all to hear.

"AT ARMS! AT ARMS! THE WIZARDS GO TO WAR!"

* * *

CRACK!

Tonks reappeared on the bank, not meters from her cursing mentor. She gasped for breath, spat a bilge of briny sick, sent a groping, shaking hand to assess her companion…

Even over the chaos in the water, Moody heard the woman's piteous screaming.

"Nyphadora!"

"Mad-eye!" Tonks begged through terrified tears, "do something!"

But she'd splinched. Splinched nearly in two. Skin wrong-way out and bare bone peeking through. Wandless. Muggle. Chaos. Even in perfect conditions Apparition could easily go wrong.

No time. No healers. No Accidental Magic Reversal Squad in the universe could undo the damage. She was inside-out and alive to feel it. Even the debauchery of the Death Eaters and Crouch's own cruelty had never disgusted him so much. In all his long—too long, now—years, even Alastair Moody had never seen the like.

Nothing for it. Only mercy. "Avada kedavra," Moody said.

There. Her screams, like her suffering, were over.

Auror or not, grown woman or not, she'd been a stringy, bullied N.E.W.T. student on a summer internship when he'd first laid eyes on her. Saw something in her that made him sad. Made him old. Removed those battle-worn scales from his eyes and remembered for the first time in a long time that not all evil existed in the form of Dark Wizards and Unforgiveable Curses, that sometimes courage, true courage, wasn't putting a life on the line but merely being willing to stand up for those who couldn't protect themselves. She'd still been shy and stringy, but when she'd gone back for that seventh year at Hogwarts you could be damned sure it was with a spring in her step, shoulders straight, and with an arsenal of (relatively) harmless yet oh-so-humiliating hexes up her robes. And the first time that sniveling Potions Professor had given her a month's detention for sending a message to his precious Slytherins he'd shipped her his Order of Merlin, first class.

"You did what you could," he grunted. "That's all that counts."

Nymphadora Tonks bawled like a baby in his arms, bloodied hands raising red ribbons on her face.


	12. Fathers, Daughters, Fish and Chips

**Unrequited: I'm a Veteran. Seen it all. There's only one thing worth remembering: Auror has to make sacrifices. Sometimes that means dying…sometimes it means letting others. Neither's easy. HBP, Moody and Tonks. Every Auror has a weakness…what's yours?**

* * *

Even for newcomers to the Ministry of Magic, the assorted witches and wizards of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were always the easiest to spot. The most harried, most haggled, most haphazardly dressed in a bizarre mixture of robes, pyjamas, and sometimes nudity as they stumbled from the emerald green flames of the vast floo network, they were the busiest, most raggedly, and most terse. And Arthur Weasley, head (and secretly the largest offender) of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office was no exception.

He'd been up all night finishing that above-top-secret Snorkack report. Then the chickens had gotten out again this morning, and no amount of _accio _ever seemed to gather the squawking flock back into the coop. Feathers had flown, droppings were scattered, and he'd dropped his patched briefcase in the mud when one of the speckled idiots had flown into his face. He'd woken Molly—as if she needed anymore worrying—who seemed to think the Burrow under attack, and even Ronald, moaning and yawning with his rumpled red head stuck out the uppermost window.

"I'll get it, dad," Ginny had said, laying down the Daily Prophet and obediently gathering them up with coaxing and clucking.

He'd singed his cloak going through the floo network—the powder Molly'd gotten from Diagon Ally had been discount, and, he secretly suspected, been both out of date and cut with powdered dragon dung. Even when the Ministry had still been denying You-Know-Who's return, floo powder had gone into short supply. It was the safest, quickest means of magical transport. No one had wanted to be caught in the open if the rumors surrounding that Diggory boy's death had been true after all. Even Hogwarts had sent students home for Holidays using the castle's vast expanse of chimneys rather than risk the exposure on the Hogwarts Express. Dumbledore's doing, he was certain of it, despite that Umbridge woman's short-lived regime.

But that hadn't been the worst of it.

He'd had paper planes—and owls, for the love of Merlin!—buzzing around his head from the moment he'd entered the Ministry. "I'm coming, damnit!" Someone had placed them on high alarm, as ordinarily they'd be circling his desk. They whizzed around his head as he trotted doggedly through the halls, and even bungled behind him to the elevator, where he'd stopped cold.

Percy.

A wave of anger, embarrassment, and guilt hit him all at once, and he could feel his face flush pink. Arthur wanted to say something, but his third eldest remained stony and silent. So he endured the misfortune of sharing an elevator with his estranged son.

"Your mother worries," he said when the rickocheting cart came to a sudden halt. "Send her an owl sometime?"

But Percy Weasley said nothing. To be honest, Arthur would have been shocked if he had.

A routine, hectic day. There'd been sightings of a possible magic car, but further investigation revealed an intoxicated Muggle driver with impressive, albeit entirely accidental, ramping abilities mistaken for flight. Another Owl from a Hogsmeade busybody, complaining about Aberforth Dumbledore's continual experimentation with fire-breathing goats—Care of Magical Creatures Office, Return to Sender, Arthur sighed. And lastly a pair of cursed dancing shoes, centuries old, that turned red-hot when worn and forced the wearer to dance himself to death.

How Grimm.

But despite the hardships, the long hours, and the thankless nature of his job, Arthur Weasley would be lying to himself to say he'd have it any other way. The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office allowed him to tinker with the things he loved best, allowed him continuous access to that mysterious and fascinating Muggle world, and allowed him to engage in civil activity, protecting the wizarding populace, without putting his life on the line like the Aurors or Hit Wizards. Certainly every wizard dreamed of joining their elite ranks as a child, taking down the next Dark Lord as Dumbledore had done in his prime…but childish dreams tended to fade once one had children of his own.

…and Arthur Weasley had _seven._ Six boys, one daughter, on which he doted. He wasn't all that certain of this Dean Thomas fellow, but Ginny was a fifth year now, as Molly reminded him (and he rather wished she hadn't—fifth year! The things they'd done, sneaking out of Gryffindor Tower at night!), and entitled to her privacy.

"Whatever happened to that Potter boy?" He'd harrumphed only yesterday morning, after Pigwidgeon had whizzed in the open window at the breakfast table and sent a letter splattering into his porridge.

"Dad!" She'd flushed as red as her long hair, running upstairs to read it.

He liked Harry Potter. Parentless, raised by Muggles, famous as Merlin, if truth be told, but still so surprisingly humble. And a good friend—a _truly good friend_—to his Ronald. Bill had his looks, Charlie had been so athletic, and Percy both brilliant and determined. Freddy and Georgie had always been popular, since infancy had had each other and the uncanny ability to make him laugh (even when Molly insisted they needed scolding). But Ronald…well, Ronald had been the youngest of five brothers with two parents busy with six other children. He'd never been good at making friends, and trudging off to work the morning Molly put him on his first train to Hogwarts had been one of his worst days as a parent. How he'd worried! But the Potter boy had been there, and from what Molly (and Ginny, Ginny hadn't stopped prattling on about it for months!) had said, he'd taken to Ron immediately.

Lunchtime rolled around, and the cursed shoes—no doubt having passed at one point through Burgin and Burkes or some other Knockturn Alley establishment—had finally been exorcised and incinerated. The magical windows to his cupboard-sized office promised afternoon sun and a chance to escape the mundane.

He fancied a sandwich, perhaps fish and chips, in downtown London. Why not? He'd had a tiring day, not even half-finished. He had no way of knowing the day was to grow longer still.

Outside it was foggy, dismal, and bleak. No proper weather for July. But he bundled up, bumbled along the sidewalk, admiring the Muggles—the automobiles! The shopfronts! The strange ecelectric gadgets! All of it splendid, all of it without magic!—and for a few precious moments he was able to forget the sun wasn't shining, his job dead-end, and a son who hated him.

He'd grabbed a rather delicious, rather greasy basket of fish and chips, salty and scrumptious, and headed back to the office, munching happily. There was some commotion far off in the distance, sirens in the city, but he thought little of it. These Muggles and their primitive, albeit ingenius, technology were always causing fires or trouble of some sort. He walked back to the office, whistling.

He placed a quarter into the red phone, and down he went, unsuspecting, unassuming, and completely unprepared. For a moment, the Ministry of Magic was exactly as it had been for the last fifteen years.

Then the silvery spectre of a toothsome fish swam out of nowhere, shouting with the terrible voice Alastair Moody.

"AT ARMS! AT ARMS! THE WIZARDS GO TO WAR!"

Chaos. Panic. Aurors racing, witches screaming, Scrimgeour shouting for _order, order!_

Arthur Weasley dropped the basket, hot fish and chips falling unfinished and forgotten to the trampled stone floor.


End file.
